House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  All the while, Venetia regained more of her senses. They're going to kill me if I don't get loose on my oum. More thinking: There's a gun in Father Driscoll's drawer-if only 1 could get it ... And the car out front, the black Mercedes: Are the keys on Father Driscoll's dead body?

  But now-

  Venetia thought she heard something, but not from near the pond where John and Betta had had their fun.

  The sound seemed to be behind her.

  A creaking sound. Like an antique chair creaking, or the timber on an old boat.

  Hog-tied, it was nearly impossible to flip over and see the source of the noise. But if she did manage to flip over ... John and Betta might hear her struggles.

  Either way, her predicament was bleak.

  John pulled his pants back up, while Betta remained nude on the ground. As previously, Venetia could only see them as silhouettes, and now John was helping Betta get back up and put her blouse on.

  "Come on, honey," he continued to whisper. "I have a surprise for you."

  Betts's silhouette paused, and now she seemed giddy with anticipation.

  "This way, by the trees. .

  The silhouettes moved closer-

  They're coming here! Venetia thought.

  Then John switched on a flashlight. He maintained the lowest whisper. "Here's the first part of your surprise, honey-"

  The light snapped right down into Venetia's face.

  Betts made a noise as best she could: something like a gasp.

  "That's Venetia. I tied her up and brought her out here ... because she's very important." A chuckle. "Unlike you.-

  In the fringes of light, Venetia could see a look of complete shock on Betts's face.

  'But here's the real surprise." John's voice grew louder. "I did it just for you, Betta...."

  Next, the flashlight snapped upward, behind where Venetia lay.

  Betta's mouth fell open in a silent scream.

  Crack!

  John hit Betta in the head with the flashlight. She collapsed right in front of Venetia.

  John reached behind the nearest tree and produced a long length of rope with a noose at the end. It had obviously been preprepared. He calmly put the noose around Betta's neck, then began to yank on another length of rope. Each yank hoisted Betta a few more feet upward, until her feet dangled a foot above the ground. The body hitched for a few moments, then hung still.

  Venetia tried to scream through her gag.

  "That's it for her." The light was back in Venetia's face. Now the young man spoke at normal volume. "Guess you've got some questions, huh, cutie?" and then suddenly her gag was cut off.

  "John, you evil bastard!" Venetia shrieked.

  The figure behind the flashlight stalled. "John?" and then he cracked a laugh. "Fuck!"

  Now that he spoke at normal volume, Venetia realized her error. It was a voice she'd heard before ... but not John's.

  Oh, God-it can't be ...

  "So you thought I was that dimwit geek who cuts the grass?" The flashlight turned up to the face. "Shit, baby, you're dumber than Betta."

  It was Dougie Jones.

  He grinned down, the light dicing his face with jetblack wedges.

  "You're in jail!" Venetia shrieked. "I saw you arrested!"

  "Yeah, and then I broke out." The pumpkin grin sharpened. "All by the grace of my god. You know him."

  Venetia's eyes felt lidless.

  "Eosphorus. Ash-Shaytan. Lux Ferre. Iblis. Lucifer, my Morning Star."

  Venetia's mind whirred like a mouse on a wheel. "If Betta was in your cult, too, why did you kill her?"

  He sniggered at the hanging corpse. "That mute bitch was just some squeeze on the side-she was never one of us. I had her completely duped. Told her I worked at a store in town and was going to community college. She fell in love with me real fast."

  "You led her on for ... what? Just sex?"

  "No, no, don't be stupid. For access to the prior house. After the spring murders, they put serious locks on the place. I needed her key-"

  "So you discreetly copied hers," Venetia realized, "after you became involved."

  "Sure. Once a chick gets mushy for a guy, they're a cinch to manipulate. Oh, sorry, you haven't seen the rest of my work." Then he flipped her over and shined his light upward.

  Venetia's scream wheeled out into the woods.

  Two more bodies hung by their necks, both naked, their white skin nearly glowing in the moonlight.

  Mrs. Newlwyn and John.

  "More sacrificing?" Venetia dared ask.

  "Nope. These are different-we call them precursory oblations. Killing the innocent for kicks, you know? It keeps the psychic energy around the house nice and dark. We killed a lot of people in these woods-me, Freddie, and Sue. Tortured 'em, burned 'em, even buried some alive. Hitchhikers, bums, hookers." Dougie leaned over and pinched Venetia's cheek. "It keeps the air rich-just the way Boniface wants it. We do as he bids."

  "Pope Boniface died over a thousand years ago."

  Dougie shot her a surprised look. "You're a Christian, for fuck's sake. Nobody ever really dies. Exalted Duke Boniface is alive and well."

  Venetia was working her wrists behind her back, praying they would come undone. Keep him talking. Bide more time. "Tell me about the Involution, Dougie. I know you're going to kill me, so go ahead and say it. You need four sacrifices, right? One for each corner of the Involution?"

  "Last spring we got the first two," he said. "The nun and the old biddy. And you saw the third-"

  "Father Driscoll," she croaked.

  "Right. Another virgin. The fucker was celibate his whole life, which was just what we needed. Chastity equals purity, and purity corrupted equals power to Lucifer."

  Driscoll was the third, and I'm the fourth. She continued to twist her wrists within the lash.... "Why did you drag me out here? Why not just cut my throat and drain my blood in the prior house like you did the others?"

  Dougie shook his head. "You don't know anything." Then he cut the bonds around her ankles and wrists and lifted her to her feet. "The actual sacrifices are much more critical than these precursory jobs."

  Venetia couldn't believe he'd untied her ... until he stuck a pistol in her ribs.

  "So what are you waiting for?" She stumbled as he shoved her toward the clearing's exit.

  He stalked along through the brambles, one hand girded about her arm. "Since you're not going to be around that much longer, I guess I can tell you." Dougie paused. "The blood needs to rot-"

  "What?" Venetia almost gaped.

  "Virgin blood alone isn't good enough. It has to be soured. It has to be corrupted before it's poured at the four font-points-"

  Font-points, Venetia thought. Each corner of the diagram ... or each corner of the house. "Font-points ..

  "Any container will do," Dougie explained. "But the blood needs to rot for at least a day before the Involution can be charged, and it's not quite time yet."

  Now he'd taken her out of the clearing and across the moonlit backyard, toward the house.

  The blood has to rot for at least a day? "What time is it now?"

  "A little past midnight."

  "You knocked me out at about eight, right? So how many people have you killed in the four hours since then?"

  Dougie laughed and squeezed Venetia's buttocks. "Hate to tell you this, baby. It wasn't four hours ago I jacked you out. It was eight PM last night."

  I've been unconscious all that time? It didn't seem so, but then it made more sense when she remembered what he'd said about the blood. "So Father's Driscoll's blood has had over a day to 'spoil,' huh?"

  "That's right. We hid the Morte-Cisternas back in the woods-"

  "Morte-what?" she interjected.

  "The fonts. It's just a fancy name for whatever container we use to hold the blood. It's the blood, get it? The blood is what makes it all work. Always has, since Lucifer's Fall. Where do you think all that witchcraft and hokey folklore shit came from anyway?"


  "The sacrifice of virgins," Venetia said. "The offering of chaste blood to Satan..."

  "Uh-huh. It's all true, it just got all fucked-up and twisted around over the ages. There ain't no witches on broomsticks but there really is power in virginal blood. You just have to do it all right-" He squeezed her buttocks again. "Plus, you've got to have faith." Then he laughed some more.

  He unlocked the back kitchen door with the key he'd copied from Betta's. A twinge of hope flared when Venetia remembered that Dan had gone to the bar last night. Maybe he'd gone tonight as well....

  Maybe he's back now-.. . and Dougie doesn't know.

  "Everything's ready now," Dougie said, more to himself. He seemed very satisfied. "I've brought everything inside. We just have a little time to kill is all."

  Venetia wilted. Now Dougie was caressing her buttocks and thighs. "But if you rape me, I won't be a virgin anymore, Dougie."

  "Oh, don't worry. That won't happen. But that doesn't mean I can't play with you a while...."

  He wedged his hand up between her legs. Venetia winced. Her blouse was torn open, her bra ripped apart at the cups. The rough hand suddenly kneading her bare breasts made her stomach quake.

  "Yeah .. .

  But the molestation decreased once he got her into the atrium; at once he seemed distracted.

  The huge room looked vacant now, to the extent that Venetia was taken aback. "You've been busy," she said.

  "Yep. Took most of the day." Then he parted from her, looking out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  All of the couches, chairs, and tables had been moved away to the atrium's outer edges; the large oval rugs had been rolled up and pushed aside, revealing the bare floor beneath. Even from this low vantage point, Venetia could easily make out the design.

  Inlaid into the blond wood was the symbol-immenseset in much darker wood, and expertly carved.

  The Involution, she thought.

  Mahogany arrows pointed inward from three comers, while from the fourth-the southeast corner-sprouted the corkscrew spiral which came to an end precisely in the center of the atrium. Now that Venetia was looking at it from the left, it occurred to her just how clearly the spiral formed the number six.

  "Tessorio inlaid the floor with the Involution over forty years ago," Dougie breathed, "but it still looks brand-new."

  He was right. The darker wood inlays that formed the diagram's features seemed to shine beneath the old wax.

  Dougie's voice resonated with awe. "Freddie would be so proud of me...."

  Venetia looked at him. "How could Freddie have gotten into this at all? Tessorio himself obviously founded the cult-"

  "Right, and he built the prior house to the exact specifications as Boniface's courtyard. It was brilliant. See, Boniface's courtyard is a Power Dolmen."

  The mad voice in her head had said the same thing....

  Dougie went on, "It's the only way to have the rites occur at the same time."

  Keep him talking. "Rites? Plural?"

  "Of course. When I charge the Involution, an identical rite will be underway at Fortress Boniface."

  'In Hell," Venetia said, and thought, Madness. "But you never answered my question. What's the link between Tessorio's cult from over thirty years ago and your cult today?"

  "Freddie."

  "What?"

  "Freddie's mother was a junkie prostitute."

  ..So?"

  "Freddie's father was Tessorio. Tessorio left all the instructions for Freddie after he died in the mid seventiessee, Freddie was blessed from the beginning. Eventually he brought me and Sue into the fold of Lucifer's congregation." Dougie's eyes turned bright on her. "Two Involutions-two identical Power Dolmen's-in two different worlds."

  Now Venetia was seeing firsthand just how insane Tessorio had been. The ultimate jinx-he constructed an occult temple with Church funds ... and no one ever knew. But as her eyes strayed along the room's long dimensions, she finally noticed....

  "Now I'm really confused." In the northwest and southwest corners sat two gasoline cans. "I thought this was some kind of blood sacrifice. You're going to burn the place down?"

  Dougie chuckled. "Don't worry about what you don't understand," he said, and walked to the first can. "It's almost time now anyway. I told you before, the MorteCisternas can be anything-the name's pretty much just for show. It's the meaning behind it-and our faith-that gives it power."

  The gas cans are the fonts, she realized. The storage vessels for the blood.

  "These first two'll be really ripe-they've been rotting out in the woods since last spring." Then he unscrewed the top and laid the can down on its side.

  The blub-blub-blud sound brought with it an appalling smell. What emptied from the can looked like black rice pudding. Stinking and shining, it laid in a lumpy puddle at the beginning of the first comer arrow.

  "That's the blood from the nun-whew! Stinks, doesn't it?" Then Dougie repeated the procedure with the southeast can, whose contents stunk just as badly. "And this is the old prune-but I'll tell ya, she went down kicking and screaming. And she had a Jersey accent, too, ya know? Between her prune-face and that accent, no wonder she never got laid."

  Venetia could only stare.

  Dougie walked outward toward the far corner. "If you try to run"-he showed her the pistol again-"I'll kneecap you. So don't be stupid."

  The light was dimmer at this farther end of the atrium. Next to the corner pillar, she noticed another can. Dougie dumped it.

  Blub-blub-blub ...

  "And that's Father Driscoll's blood," Venetia said.

  "Yep. It's not as dark 'cos it's only been sitting out a day." He rubbed a finger in the foul puddle. "But it's spoiled enough...." And then he grinned up at her.

  It was in the southeast comer from which the great spiral sprouted. That's the spot where my blood will be poured, Venetia thought.

  In the moment his back was turned, Venetia darted her eyes around. There must be something down here I can use for a weapon! The walkways beneath the overhead stairhall were all clogged with furniture now. If only there was a knife ...

  The kitchen's too far away, she reasoned. He'd catch me before I got there. When she glanced out the window, though, she didn't see the Mercedes, and this rekindled her hope that Dan was out somewhere-the bar, maybe. And maybe he'll be coming back any minute....

  But then-

  It lay in plain view right on the windowsill between two heaps of furniture: one of the Red Devil razor-knives they'd been using to scrape excess paint off the glass.

  Got to get over thcre ...

  She took a few slow sidesteps so as not to seem overt, but stopped when Dougie looked back over.

  That's when then another question snagged her interest.

  "So this is all happening tonight?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he said, standing now at the southeast corner.

  "But you said the blood had to spoil for at least a day."

  "It has," Dougie said. Then he blinked and started laughing. "Oh, man, that's hilarious. You think you're the fourth sacrifant!" He shook his head. "How stupid can you get?"

  He reached behind the pillar and produced something. Venetia squinted but couldn't make it out.

  "What's ... that?" she asked.

  Dougie's laughter echoed through the atrium when he tossed the object across the long floor. It bounced, thudding, several times, and then wobbled to a stop just a few feet from where she stood.

  Venetia didn't even scream this time; she just stared in the numbest dread ... at Dan's severed head.

  "You're crazy," she uttered. "You're a psychopath."

  "Hey, sticks and stones..." Now he dragged out a fourth gas can, which had clearly been sitting in the sun all day along with Driscoll's. "Two virgin men in the same house. Shit, I couldn't believe it. You fuckin' Catholics really take shit serious." Then he unscrewed the cap and began to dump the blood.

  (i)

  He dumped the blood into the fourth corner of the cour
tyard by sliding the stone lid off the font and tipping it over. Then the Sergeant at Arms stepped back, looked up, and bowed to Boniface.

  The Exalted Duke, peering down from the high wall, nodded back from behind his face of salt.

  Within the smoking court, all Conscripts, Ushers, and Golems stood in the stillest silence. Sentinels on the high ramparts, too, watched in awe as the Hex-Flux about the Fortress amplified. The energy crackled so thickly it could almost be seen.

  "The fourth and final Morte-Cistema has been spilled, my most terrible prince," uttered Willirmoz.

  Boniface watched through his eye slits, his gnawed face twitching with nervousness. At each corner of the courtyard, the four pools of sullied blood shined like hot tar.

  "But nothing's happening," the Duke croaked.

  Willirmoz smiled with burned lips. "Patience ..

  Were the blood bricks of the Fortress walls glowing more deeply now? The richness of horror could be smelled in the air. Boniface felt the prickling waves course up his corrupted skin beneath his mantle and cloak.

  When must we descend to the Lower Chancel, wizard?"

  "When the blood begins to move, my most sickening lord."

  Boniface continued to look down. He was scared to the core of his demented soul ... but he knew he must not show it.

  "The blood isn't moving, wizard," Boniface's voice rattled. "If you have failed me, the scribes of Hell will be writing about your tortures for the next ten thousand years, so help me."

  But Willirmoz' charred eyes beamed. "In that event, I would deserve it and worse, my lord, but ... behold..."

  Willirmoz pointed down to the southeast comer of the yard.

  The pool of blood began to shudder, then ...

  Glory to Lucifer ...

  It began to move.

  The finest crimson mist began to rise from the puddle's irregular surface, while the puddle itself shifted, as if struggling, and inched itself toward the end of the great spiral trough of hand-steamed Druid Oak. From there, the blood came alive, and began to slowly follow the trough's spiriferous contour.

  Struck dumb, Boniface watched. The blood pools in the other three corners began to mist and shudder as well, and began to crawl in straight lines toward the Involution's center.